


A Little Off

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:49:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: “How come you’re not dressed like a sexy nurse?”





	A Little Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kornevable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/gifts).



> happy birthday fafa!! i'm sorry this is a bit late & i hope your birthday was excellent despite the exam....

Shougo hasn’t been feeling great lately, but he’s not one of those guys with boundless energy and a chipper smile, and he likes staying up late even when he’s got the early shift at work (on the off chance that someone absolutely can’t make it later and they offer to swap with him—hey, it almost happened once). This is a little different—God, Ryouta had better not have given him Mono or something without getting it himself (typical). It’s not worth thinking about too much, though; Shougo finds himself yawning more than usual and shivering under the shower, and he crawls into bed when Ryouta’s still awake.

“Are you okay, Shougo-kun?”

“I feel kind of gross,” says Shougo.

“Ew, don’t infect me,” says Ryouta, squirming away.

“Idiots don’t catch cold,” says Shougo.

“Then why aren’t you feeling good?”

“Hey, fuck you,” says Shougo, but he can’t muster any real bite behind it, and rolls over next to Ryouta.

Ryouta’s skin is warm against his, and Shougo sighs; swallowing hurts his throat a little but maybe it’ll all be over in the morning.

He should know better than to indulge in wishful thinking when it comes to shit like this; just his luck and he wakes up with a lump in his throat the size of Mt. Fuji, eyes that barely open, and the covers spun around him in a spiral like the shell of a snail. The alarm is ringing, but pulling his hands out of the warmth is too much trouble; he can maybe tune it out—

The sound of a slap, and then the alarm is off.

“Shougo-kun…”

He tries to retort, but no sound comes out; all of a sudden he feels the need to cough. Ryouta presses a tissue to his mouth and Shougo coughs into it; there’s some phlegm loose in his throat but not much. It still feels stoppered, wrong. The back of Ryouta’s hand is cool on his forehead, and Shougo tries not to lean into the touch (he’s not a fucking cat).

“Geez, Shougo-kun. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“It wasn’t this bad,” Shougo rasps.

Ryouta clicks his tongue, and then moves away, and Shougo tries to rub his eyes. Work. Shit, he has to get to work.

“I’m calling your workplace. You’re not going in.”

Yes, he’s probably contagious and shouldn’t be handling food, but he can still seat people or something—it’s fucking humiliating to be this weak and wrestling with the covers when all he wants to do is get to the bathroom and pour himself a glass of water.

Ryouta has that for him by the time he struggles out of bed—okay, he’s got to be hallucinating this; when the hell did Ryouta turn into some sort of competent nurse? Shougo means to say it out loud, but his throat still isn’t working and he’s fucking tired, and he’s not going to question the gift of an off day thrust upon him (though it would be nice to take off when he can actually fucking enjoy it). So he rolls over again and lets the random intrusive thoughts take over until he’s asleep.

The next time he wakes up, he can open his eyes properly. Not that Shougo’s too concerned with that, because the air is filled with the smell of something burning, or at least singed.

“Ryouta, are you cooking?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Shougo swings his legs over the edge of the bed and then the vertigo takes him; he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. His throat still feels clogged, but more like a drain full of hair than a dive bar toilet. There’s medicine on the end table; Shougo opens the bottle and takes a swig. He can’t really taste it, which is probably a good thing, but he can definitely still smell the burning.

Ryouta is standing over the stove, with what looks like the remains of soup stuck to the inside of one pot, and a failed something—fried egg?—in a pan.

“I told you to stay out of the kitchen,” says Shougo. “Here.”

“You’re sick; go back to bed.”

“I’m hungry,” says Shougo. “Order takeout.”

“You’d refuse the soup I made for you?”

Shougo stares at the pot, eyebrows raised.

“Mean,” says Ryouta.

“You’re the mean one if you were actually gonna offer it to me,” says Shougo. “I might die if I tried to eat it.”

“You’re sick; you don’t know what you’re saying.”

As if Shougo’s body needed the reminder, he suddenly shivers. It’s cold in here; the window’s open (not doing a great job of clearing out the burning smell yet, but whatever).

“I’m going back to bed,” says Shougo. “If this was a ploy to get me to make you food—”

“You’re sick,” says Ryouta again. “Do you really think that low of me?”

Shougo doesn’t dignify that with an answer, falling back on the bed and settling under the covers. He wonders how long he’ll be able to get away with stealing all of them under the premise of being sick before Ryouta tries to steal them back again. Probably not very long; Shougo’s actually shocked Ryouta didn’t ask him if he was faking this time. He must look really shitty, then, or maybe Ryouta’s gotten more gullible. Shougo falls asleep this time thinking about all the things he can get past Ryouta.

It smells spicy, like better food than Ryouta could hope to make, when Shougo wakes. Ryouta’s sitting on the other side of the bed, takeout container in hand.

“How come you’re not dressed like a sexy nurse?”

Ryouta rolls his eyes. “You don’t think I’m sexy?”

“I never said that,” says Shougo. “But just because you’re my boyfriend now doesn’t mean you have to stop trying.”

“I was going to feed you, too,” says Ryouta. “Have fun.”

He puts the container of soup and spoon down and slides off the bed.

“Fine. I didn’t want to be spoon fed anyway. That’s embarrassing.”

Ryouta doesn’t take the bait.


End file.
